It was one of those cliché moments. Walking up the grassy hill with laced fingers and whispers that tickled the ears, they were just a normal, perfect couple, laughing to pointlessness in their drunkenness in love. One of them probably pointed out how impossibly green everything was after the shower. The other probably attempted to sort the remaining crystal droplets into dew and rain.
But, it didn’t matter if it was dew or rain, for not one crystal of perfection reflecting their silly grins would stay. What is one to do, but to continuing laughing on, continue climbing that grassy knoll in a moment forever preserved in a cliché?